The New Kurd On The Block
by LasTheJihadist
Summary: A new situation has risen, terrorists with white masks attack without discretion, harder than before, implementing tactics from their Middle Easteren brothers. So when the going gets tough who do you call? A Peshmerga of course! Who’s better at killing a terrorist than a man who grew up in war riddled continent!
1. The Intro Before The Introduction Ch 1

**Salamu Alaykum Jihadists! This is me finally put my thoughts onto digital paper... err, I think that's about right? Anyway moving onto the reason why I created this!**

 **I just felt like there wasn't enough fiction on R6 Siege so I just wanted to add to it, by introducing a badass Peshmerga killing terrorists** **like it's second nature. I'll try to be as inoffensive as possible but won't make any promises. I like to think my OC reflects me and my personality, for example I'm patriotic, reckless and a little immature. Though I think it should be said I'll try to ground the character and universe into our current history as best as I can, it'll be in current time (2018), and I will explain how things would've have changed. But I digress let's get on with it! Into The Breach!**

 **B.S (Before Script not Bull Shit XD) I also might get a little frustrated when it comes to the subject of operators, because it's a little disrespectful that they'd add an Italian, or Spanish CTU but not literal Terrorist exterminators in the Middle East! I know it's a game based on CTUs, but if you're going to creat a game about anti terrorism then why not have the leading soldiers in the matter, Peshmerga and Iraqi soldiers risking their life's everyday to keep ISIS from spreading even further or at this point leaking out of Syria. It also seems Ubisoft is waddling around the Middle East completely. Like come on what's the point of the concept of Anti Terrorism and not having the modern equivalent of a person who kills pure evil on a daily basis! Like team Rainbow do!**

 **Location:- North East Syria, 100km south of the city of Hasaka. YPG/PKK controlled territory.**

 **Time:- 0648 hours KSA**

 **Primary Objective:- Recruit K.C.**

"Click!"

Another component slid into place, freshly oiled and cleaned to a professional standard. The metal itself seemed to reflect the rays of morning light like a mirror. Sweat trickled past a masculine brow, for it was too thick and unkept to be otherwise. The perspiration slid down the arc of the man's nose, before hanging on the tip, and free falling onto the dusty table on which he worked on.

"Click!"

A bolt carrier carefully set down onto the receiver, while its bolt lay ready inside. Like a piece of an intricate puzzle, a dust cover was placed over shielding the components under from the elements.

"Click!"

Once again the mess of plastic and metal gained character, seemingly taking shape. A masterpiece of design most would call it, perfect for Middle East was a better description.

"Boom!"

Cheap, easy to maintain, easy to produce, and easy to use.

What's not to like?

"Crack! Crack!"

The loud roars of battle penetrated the silence of the small room, as the sound of maintenance was drowned by the racket of death and battle.

"Click!"

Some more "cogs" were placed into the machine.

"Boom!"

This time the interruption was close enough to cause the very foundations of the small hut to shake from the force of about 20 kg of explosives, that is to say if the minuscule shelter had foundations. Dirt and dust fell through the cracks in the wooden ceiling, chips shaking loose from the cinder block walls and adding to the dirt already on the ground.

" جهات الاتصال! استمر في اطلاق النار (CONTACTS! KEEP FIRING!)"

"Fuck's sake." The Soldier grunted, grabbing a curved magazine clad in a single stripe of red coating, clicking it into the receiver.

Getting up from the chair he'd been sitting in, the Man moved with heavy footsteps over to the window taking a look out. Before promptly ducking back inside when a sniper round embedded its self into the wall next to his porthole.

"كاكا جكدار هاتن!(Sir we have armed hostiles!)" A masked gunman burst through the door, only to find himself staring down the barrel of his commander's sidearm.

" خوم عزانم(I know already.)" The soldier replied letting his pistol fall back into its holster, equipping a friendly smile instead.

Telling the man to go join his comrades, the Soldier walked over to his table, grabbing his AK and walking out the door. Once outside the Soldier was hit with a new wave of smells and sounds. The Syrian heat tingled his adapted skin, as the odor of smokeless powder, burning metal and rubber crashed into him like a tsunami. "Wait for it..." The Man whispered to himself waiting in habitual pause.

"! الله أكبر (Allahu Akbar!)" Came the mandatory proceeding for any battle anyside of the Middle East.

"Ahhhh... That's it, now to get to work." The Soldier let out a sigh of content.

Walking past a shoddily built ring of sandbags protecting a small group of officers barking orders into radios and old Nokia phones, he moved with pride each step pushing through the sand beneath him like treads on a tank.

'Of course we have enough for military grade everything, but not for decent fucking telephones.'

His musings were promptly cut short when a 7.62 round went whizzing right past his center of mass and deep into the wall of the cinder block and sandbag hut he had just occupied.

" حاملة جنود مدرعة تتدحرج في ١٠٠ متر! ضربة جوية! (APC rolling in at 100 meters! Airstrike incoming!)" A strained voice shouted close by. Hmm... was it odd that the cavalry were early? He walked on trying to get a good look on the APC.

The sickening screeching sound of 500 kg of ordinance careening towards the ground slowly crept up on him, adding to the symphony of sounds.

"!احتمي (TAKE COVER!)" The Soldier found himself shouting.

The impact shook the earth with tremendous force, as debris and big chunks of sand rained back down to the ground. The shower continued keeping the inhabitants of the big entrenchment pinned down.

"Stop stealing our kills Amerikan!" Several angery peshmergas stood up and shaking their fists at the jet _circling_ above. Wait... why was it still _circling_?

'Oh no...'

It was common sense that if an American stayed longer than need be in the Middle East, then hide yo oil, cuz Uncle Sam was coming to reap a reward. Not to mention they usually hightailed it out after an airstrike to prevent surface to air from locking on, because we all know that a certain country is a little trigger happy when it comes to shooting down jets. Ahem! *Cough* Turkey *Cough*.

"STAY DOWN! There is still a sniper out there, and our _trespasser_ hasn't left yet!" The man yelled scaring most of those standing, if not all. It proved to scare those still taking cover, it didn't help most were _older_ than him. The brigade quickly followed the order as it was translated along the lines.

In all honesty the sniper was either strewn about 100 metres across the desert making good compost or was shitting his trousers.

The silence however was deafening, strange... the man never understood the saying, or what it implied at first. Now it was staring him in the face. War like many things in life had its awkward moments. This would have been one of them had a sudden interruption or explosion broken the rare peace in north-east Syria. _But_ it hadn't seemed like Allah had finally smitten all those who deface Islam for their own agendas, not that he probably would anytime soon. The silence continued on a little longer before the sharp crackle of gunfire was ambience once more.

Figures in black breached the left over smoke screen the APC had produced before it was obliterated. Parting the fog like fish in the sea, the forty or so men ran rifles and machetes first at the entrenchment.

"تهمة العدو!(Enemy Charge!)"

Someone else announced before he could, for he was too preoccupied with unslinging his AK and aiming down site.

The first shot flew out like a signal, braking men out of their stupor, forcing them backing into their training. The rest of the shots, well they just ripped through the lines of figures in black.

"Click! Click!"

Came the sound most Soldiers dred, however it paid to be prepared, the empty gun quickly thrown to the side for an alternative.

"Shit." Grunted the man.

Many may think the alternative may have been the sidearm convinently strapped onto his chest plate, but no this was the Middle East so you either fought with explosives or in melee, it was just the way it went... The sound of Damascus steel tearing its way out of a scabbard decorated in gold, quickly made itself apparent, and with a few figure eight waves of the two pronged blade, the Cobra was ready to strike. The first combatant, wearing a green kevlar vest over black damned robes, came charging full tilt, a measly rusted machete upheld, going into a fore swing. Then into a backswing, quickly transistioning between the first and second attacks.

The Cobra dodged the first and sidestepped the second, leaning in to send a rebuttal of his own, all the while cracking a victorious smirk. The well maintained blade ate through fabric and flesh like it would air, severing multiple essential organs in a single cut, just like the curving in the blade was made to do. The first man slumped over face first intro the dirt, blood and guts spilling out of his abdominal cavity.

The second opponent came forth in the same manner as the first, but slowed to a halt a few metres off leveling the scimitar parallel to the ground. Both swords gleamed a geart hue of yellow, looking more like glow sticks than the sharp metal tools they were.

The terrorist lunged forward the scimitar coming down in a diagonal arc downwards. It was swiftly met with the in built hook in between the two prongs of the Zulfikar, as the scimitar lay trapped. A quick twist of his wrist sent the trapped sword tumbling out of the black clad man's grip, rendering him unarmed, and _unprepared_.

The terrorist threw a hasty punch to prolong his life, only for it to be brutally lobbed off halfway through the forearm. The next attack was more of a mercy kill, hurriedly finishing the man's life before he could scream in agony. The two prongs found flesh once again ripping past the windpipe probing the spinal cord, and out back where it once came. The sickening squelch of flesh being torn, sperated, and hewn; was all he was awarded.

Another body to add to the pile mounting behind him. Another arrival came holding another scimitar, though this time learning the mistakes of his predecessors and waiting for a numerical advantage. And his comrades seemed to notice, loyally bunching up next to him poised to attack or defend. A silent agreement past between the terrorist as the few on the flanks started taking out rifles and pistols. A few stray shots from the entrenchment saw to the wings as they became occupied with Peshmergas firing from cover.

 _Three_ came at once. The middle man held his sword like a spear, lipstick ametuerish, while the other two were set on just going in from the sides. The Cobra managed a grin, deftly pulling put his sidearm. Two shots were fire, the flanker on the right fell to a kidney shot, while the other toppled over from a bullet to the shin. The Cobra's venom was most potent against unsuspecting victims.

The last man standing undeterred by the loss of his backup, thrust forwards, leading into a swing. The charge was halted has the terrorist staggered as the Cobra shoulder checked him after the swing. The battle raged on around them, but only they mattered only one of them was winning, and the terrorist knew his end was nigh.

"!الله أكبر (ALLAHU AKBAR!)" The desperate bastard scrambled for a grenade in his pouch, before pulling it out, and holding it across his chest.

The pin never left the explosive, as a blood drenched Zulfikar embedded flesh biting down harshly, cold metal emanating how the dying man's body was feeling. The blade didn't so much as leave the man's chest, as the body just slid off the serrated steel. A fast changing in air behind alerted him of danger as he rolled forwards barely missing the edge of another machete. Another smirk found itself on his face. This time at the spryness of his evasion. He made brief eye contact with his opponent, the feeling of guilt soon washed over him.

Then he focused on the whole picture, this man did not deserve a slow death for it was unnecessary, he would give him that little mercy, but his opponent was a cold blooded murderer lynching those who weren't the right kind of backwards Muslim without remorse.

The grin he had worn evaporated, leaving a hard glare as the Cobra reared back for one last strike.

Or he would have had if a second Airstrike had not shaken the earth, and thrown his enemy on top of his weapon. A little pathetic... but it got the job done. The ringing of his ears definetely apparent.

"God bless the U.S. Airforce." A gruff voice spoke up from behind him, very unlike the others native here.

And Allah smite you for the heart attack!

Why couldn't there be a ceasefire of sound for two seconds in this Allah forbidden country!? Ok that was a little exaggerated, ironically you'd also expect a veteran to be used to loud sounds. Turning around to greet the second trespassers to stick their noses where it doesn't belong. Both human and jet alike. The Soldier calmed down, easing his breathing, also giving time for his adrenaline levels to balance out.

Moving onto the second unwelcome visitors. The pair both clad in familiar marpat desert camo, Kevlar vests, trauma plates, not to mention more military equipment (Definitely not tourists...), and a thin layer of perspiration. To the left a tall well built male, on the right a blonde female who looked way too sexy to be roughing it in Syria. If he was taking a well educated guess which he always did, he'd say there weren't Kurdish... yeah "well educated" in big quotation marks.

"I wasn't aware we had 'embeds' in this brigade." He grinned noticing the two regard him with a curious gaze, one he was mirroring with more discretion.

"We aren't here officially, we've been sent to look for someone, you could say we're here no strings attached." It was the female's turn to show off her voice, it lay tainted...no tainted was a harsh word, _dictated_ , _delivered_ in way much more befitting a temptress. An American no less, not a bad thing.

' _Not a bad thing at all, though she could be bad to me all she wants!'_ A more primal and treacherous state of mind hissed in the background.

"Even more reason to tell you to kindly bugger off. This is YPG territory, which if you hadn't noticed is currently set as engaged in active combat with ISIS remnants and Al Nusra cells." The tired and logical part of his mind spoke up before the Soldier could embarrass himself, causing American on the left to let out an annoyed grunt. If he hadn't just laid waste to approximately six men just then, he probably would have flirted.

"We're here on behalf of a CTU looking to recruit someone who specializes in terrorists, their behavior, their mannerisms, and all their little tricks, and from what we just saw here I think we've got the right man." The woman imterrupted tactfully hiding her partner's annoyance.

"Terrorists aren't some sort of wild animal you need to study, it all depends on their backgrounds i.e if they're ex-military or not, their equipment, phycogical preparation, You can't be an expert on something that's always changing and shifting. For example Al Nusra tend to attack in waves wearing down defences, while ISIS tend to send in mechanized infantry in first if they can, but those tactics change depending on constantly shifting factors." The Soldier rattled off.

"And that's what we were told you'd say." The woman grinned.

"Who are you looking for?" The man asked in a whisper.

"The Kurdish Cobra." The Male spoke this time, voice coming out more in a angry huff. The very name seemed to make every man in hearing distance tense, some seemed to play with their weapons checking if they're ready to use at a moments notice, while others looked away awkwardly. Except the two Americans who weren't so... familiar with the title.

"Wait wait wait, isn't that what the CT in CTU stands for? If you need me of all people to tell you how to kill terrorists then you need to look else where, and if I hear the phrase, 'you need to be a terrorist to understand a terrorist' I will shove this up your ass!" The Soldier fumed banging a taunt fist onto the pommel of a still _blood_ soaked Zulfikar. Accidentally revealing the Cobra to the trespassers.

"It's nothing's like that, we just wanted to offer a formal invitation to hi-... _you,_ mainly because there's been some recent developments we need new personnel for."

It seemed innocent enough, better than most contracts he had been offered anyway.

"What's the catch?" He asked. Like everything in life ,there always was one.

"Nothing too restricting, we trust you to keep this meeting, the CTU, and its actions confidential. Once you get to HQ we'll give you more details."

The Kurd stroked his goatee the feeling of his prickly facial hair assuring to him.

"I don't see any harm in it."

Because if there was one thing the Kurdish Cobra knew it was that no matter what precautions you took, death was a certainty. So it was either get busy living or get busy dying.

And he wasn't set on dying anytime soon.

 **A little author's note, I hope this was a good enough intro for my story, I will go into depth what my OC specializes in in the next chapter, which will be longer. Peace be apon you Jihadi and I will see you later.**


	2. The Middle Eastern Tour Guide Ch 2

**And I'm back! I promised a long chapter and I'll hopefully deliver, I'm currently nearing the Kurdish version of A levels so I won't have much time to update, but after the exams expect chapters every week! Anyway on to the next chapter!**

 **{TWO}**

"Destan Cawa, date of birth February 17th 1994, place of birth Hannover Germany, ethnicity Kurdish, Russian, and Iranian. Both parents are Kurdish born with four siblings, two sisters and two brothers. Previously a Lance Corporal in the 65th Asayish brigade, before moving to the 17th K.C (Kurdish Cobra) special Forces brigade currently stationed in Hasaka." An American officer droned on reading the sparsely filled folder.

"You participated in the battle for Kirkuk, the battle for Afrin, and multiple skirmishes against Turkish, Al Nusra cells, and ISIS remnants, all across Syrian soil. Not to mention you have also foughtfreelance briefly in many other countries like Chechnya, Libya, Georgia, Afganistan, Egypt, and Russia. Many titles and monikers have been given to you but you go by the name of Kurdish Cobra."

He had been here for good part of an hour, being vague and difficult, it's not his fault most the questions she asked infringed apon his numerous oaths.

It felt more like he was being sentenced for comitting a crime rather than having a verification check. It didn't help all the sweat and grime from earlier had dried. Not to mention the blood on his sword and body; both not his.

"I didn't know I was so famous." The Cobra quipped, a grin accompaning it.

"You Americans got a whole file dedicated to me? I feel honoured." He continued.

"Is that all you got a Scimitar and a one liner?" The female officer smirked.

"Darling that could be the name of my autobiography!" Destan finished with a chuckle, hiding the officer's muffled giggles with his own.

"My, my, you're well read, or should I say well watched?" The officer chuckled, craning her neck showing more fair skin then her uniform would normally allow.

"I may of had a lot of free time before I joined the army." Destan shrugged.

If Destan had learned one thing, when it came to interrogations or interviews, it was prudent to lead your interrogator or interviewer into familiar territory.

"Relatable, I was a whiny teen before I joined, joined more because of my military background if anything." The woman replied.

Dressed in a standard desert marpat officer combat fatigues, with her sleeves rolled up all the way to her elbows. A heart shaped face, accented by a slight layer of grime only increasing her appeal. Her hair had been done in what may once have been a neat bun now a little messy under her cap, but the Middle East tended to do that to neat and tidy. She looked to be his age, with hazel hair, green eyes, and a curvy figure. She was more supermodel than soldier. 'Shit of course they'd use her for something like this.' Her luscious lips were upturned in an knowing smile

She seemed like someone who was easy to be around with, even with her rank.

"See something you like?" The statement would've come across as amused, had her eyes not burned with lust driven mischief.

She sat there like a predator closing in on prey, watching his every move.

"And if I do?" He leaned in a little, placing his hands on the table between them.

A little flirting never hurt anyone.

"Guess you could get closer and we'll find out." Her angelic voice barely came out a whisper, but its effect equal to it being yelled into his ear.

'I guess she must be as bored as me.'

A sprinkle of promise, something _if_ he had the brass.

She leaned in even more, so that their breath mingled, "The question is, are you _ready_?" Destan asked.

A simple question, _had his eyes not danced with lust driven mischief._

 _And he sat their like a man guilty of many crimes._

 _the predator just became the prey._

"Ready for wha-."

"Mmmpth.."

' _Mmmm... A strong minty taste. It's about what I expected_.'

The only answer to her quickly forgotten question was a devilish surprise. It soon _elevated_ though, both participants wishing the table between them would vanish as they tried to get as close as possible. Her hands driven into his hair, his own roaming up down her sides. A tentative and eager appendage roved over her backside giving it a good squeeze.

"Mmmpth.." Was the reward he recieved, a moan muffled by their _heated_ exchange of saliva and oxygen.

Speaking of oxygen, humans needed the pesky thing.

With dazed minds, heavy hearts, and deep breaths they separated. A hairlike rope of saliva forming a bridge between the two kisser's mouths. It took all his will power to not go for another round as they ever so slowly backed off, it took a little more not to let out a whimper from missing her touch.

"I guess I should add good kisser onto the file as well, but why should I stop there." She mused out loud, her tone playful.

"Now your playing with Fire, lady, and I wouldn't want you to get you burned." Destan answer is voice going into a musky growl.

"And I wouldn't mind getting burned, I think the hot climate has prepared me enough for it..." She cooed.

The buttons on her top slowly, almost punishingly so, came undone.

"Bam! Bam!" Two fast knocks sounded against the metal door of the small room, resonating against the walls like a yell would on the walls of a cave, before swinging open.

Though still giving the officer enough time to close the three buttons that had revealed glimpses of paradise, not before sending a sexy smirk and wink his way. _Unfair!_

Was it too late to convert to her _religion_?

"Good afternoon captain, Cobra." The two Seals from earlier walked in a little cleaner though. _Lucky Bastards_. "Everything done I hope, while I'd like to stay and chat I'd rather not get a tan while doing so." The bearded one spoke, a lot less irritated than last time.

'I guess he just needed a cold shower.' Destan mused.

"May I ask where we're going?" The Cobra spoke up.

"Back to where you grew up, _Destan_." The female Seal smirked.

"I guess you also read my incredibly informative biography." A small chuckle came from the only other man in the room.

"CIA documents are more informative than what your government sent us boy." The bearded one grinned the Cobra's way.

"Allow a man a few secrets..." The Kurd motioned for them to fill in the gaps.

"I guess it wouldn't hurt, I'm BlackBeard, that's Valkyrie, and the supermodel is Emily."

"Well met," Destan got up from his seat, as Emily did the same,"Do I have time to get a little cleaned up before we go?"

"Sure go right ahead, BlackBeard will show you around the base. We leave at 2200 tonight." The blonde Seal informed.

The other Seal just gave a curt nod and smile.

 **{Two}**

"That over there is the men's showers right across from the gym, don't show weakness or the women will eat you up, and that's all what makes up Fort Foreign," Beardy finished with grandiose as if showing off a mansion.

"It's like a home away from a home away from home." The man chuckled, soon joined by the Kurd.

"You know at first I got impression that you were a old timer who 'was too old for this shit', but you seem like a chill guy." Destan said after looking around the base again.

"I've also been told I'm a great talker, and a great shot. Wait... I'm not old!" The Seal egged on.

"We'll see after I get cleaned up." Giving off a two fingered salute, Destan went over to where he left his gear. Still at the vehicle depot.

 **{Two}**

After braving what had to be the most busiest and chaotic vehicle depot he had ever seen, Destan walked to the communal showers, ignoring the multiple curious stares. It was 6:30 in the afternoon, the sun was still giving off its last rays, the grass was green, sky clear... yep you heard me the Middle East also had something called vegetation, it wasn't uncommon to find fields of green grass and trees if a war allowed it. Though it was either yellow because of the weather, or stained _red_ because of a war.

Finding an empty bench relatively close to the gym and showers, Destan removed his vest, clipping off the straps before removing the rest of his armor. Moving onto his shirt, the Kurd pulled it over his head, and tossed it onto the rest of his equipment.

A few appreciative whoops and hollers hit him from behind, surprising him at first, but eventually causing him to smirk a little. Moving his hands onto his belt, Destan undid it before letting his trousers fall to the ground. A few more whoops and hollers sounded out, this time a few more men joined in the mostly female fans. His form fitting tank top was next, being pulled over his head like his vest had, but this time around a little sway was put into it. The perverted bastards ate it up like a virgin man at strip club.

Grabbing a towel off the bench and putting his bottoms away, the Cobra scanned the outdoor gym, and true to BlackBread's word there were a nifty amount of double X chromosomes watching with perverted anticipation.

Allowing himself a small chuckle as he watched as a few of the older ones lose interest ,walking off, the Kurd finally moved over to the showers.

That is he would've, if Emily hadn't walked into his path.

"And what do we have here?" Emily's hungry eyes roved up and down his form. Scars, tatoos, and brands were what awaited her.

"A bullet sponge, a pussy magnet. I have many names, in many languages, honey." The Cobra sassed crossing his arms over his heavily defined and scarred chest.

"I wouldn't know about the second one, but I definitely see the first one." The officer answered back, looking at the multiple imperfections on his half naked form.

"You have a purpose for stopping me or did you just want a better look at the _real estate_?" Destan chuckled, soon followed by the military supermodel.

"Well I couldn't help but notice you were carrying some heavy weaponry down below, I might have to take you in for inspection." She giggled, the action more soothing than a massage.

"You're a military officer, not a police officer Emily, I'm a Man, I don't need a permit for this." Destan deflected putting one hand on his waist.

"Good point... but Destan," the person in question turned around as he walked past, "Make sure to think about me when you're taking that shower, cuz I'll be thinking about you later tonight."

She didn't even let him comprehend her words, before her lips were on his. This one not as deep as the last, but was searing enough to make him a little dizzy. Not that Destan would ever admit it. But just as he was enjoying it, he felt the warthm leave him.

The kicker was the fact that she was gone faster than a bullet, leaving her taste on his lips, and a "friendly" slap on the ass to boot.

Her bobbing head turned a corner behind a tent, and out of view.

A chorus of surprised and encouraging cheers broke him out of his stupor as men and woman alike who had seen the trade unfold were applauding , before slowly going back to what they were doing.

 _'I am really glad I have a towel around my_ _waist_

Not that it helpped much, a perfect outline of a certain overly excited organ standing at full attention against the cloth.

 _'So much for my Islamic discipline.'_

 **{Two}**

What felt like an eternity, which was really only 10 minutes, the Cobra finally finished _showering_ (I knew what you were thinking, and had to add this in post), deciding to find the only man he knew in the fort. Dressed back into a plate carrier and a new pair of combat fatigues, he felt right at home.

After a brief walk past the ammo depot and medical tents, which in his mind weren't things you should put very close to each other, he find the Seal a little while later at the shooting range, the Cobra moved past the multiple marines training their aim, though looking for a Seal in sea of amphibians wasn't easy.

"Hey Destan over here!" Or they could just find him.

The blonde Seal who had called him, flashed him a teasing grin.

"Careful Cobra, going around kissing anymore woman, might send the wrong message." The Valkyrie's amused tone not subtle.

"Yeah kid mama Valkyrie wants you all to her self." The bearded one chuckled, rubbing his arm as Valkyrie gave him a hard right hook to his bicep.

"Jealousy does not suit you, نيرجز(Nergz(Kurdish Desert Flower))."

"Neer gaz? What's that? The Arabic word for beautiful?" BlackBeard laughed but it came out more of a guffaw, the horrible miss-pronunciation making the Kurd slightly wince.

"That would be, جميلة(Beautiful)"

"Nergz is a جميلة(Beautiful) flower in Kurdistan, in Kurdish." Destan spoke, making the simple utterance of one foreign word enticing.

The Seal smirked, looking back at the Valkyrie, "Hear that Valkyrie looks like not all men have the same tact as Jack when it comes to flirting."

He was awarded with a glare.

"Anyway, before we get any blue on blue contact l actually came here to see if BlackBeard is actually accurate with a gun, and not just 'shoot it till it stops moving'." Destan poked imitating a southern accent.

"I'm guessing BlackBeard started running his mouth off again." The blonde Seal sent a sideways grin to the man.

"Yep, and Yours truely wants to see how show-boaty he can get." Destan gave a proper bow.

"We've seen you fight and it was at the very least stupid, at the most stupidly impressive." The Bearded one laughed again.

 **{Two}**

After setting up their weapons, the three shooters got into positions, their weapons rearing to go. The first round was rifles, the second was sidearms, and the third was grouped targets.

"Crack! Crack! Crack!" The first round shots left their respective ARs.

"Ping! Ping! _Pang_!" Looked like all were head on, but the AK packed quite the punch.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!" The second round shots shortly after, these shots lacking the certain umpf last ones had

"Pang! Pang! _Ping_!" Looked like the Americans had him beat at sidearm firepower.

'Stupid Americans and their stupid love for over compensating.'

"Alright last round! we're all tied till now, but I think this will be the tie breaker." The Kurd smirked.

"You can use any method you want to take out all the targets in your group." He continued.

The silence was thick, it seemed that all the other shooters had stopped to watch the three veterans compete. Valkyrie took initiative, walking up to the table next to them, and picking up a AT4 loaded with heat.

"Just watch and weep boys." The warrior woman winked, before letting the rocket loose.

The projectile let out a deafening screech, flying through the air at speeds slightly slower than its smaller metalic brethren.

"Boom!"

"Thunk." A small piece of a fucking target just casually landed on the table they had weaponry on.

It was safe to say that they'd have to get new targets in Vlakyrie's side.

"What have I said about being flashy, if I can get the job done faster the efficient way, there's no need to be extra, Haa!." The bearded one chastised, throwing a grenade normally at the targets.

"boom!"

The targets here, were all missing bits and pieces.

"Alright! Time to show you why I have 20 million YouTube subscribers." The Kurd grinned, pocketing his phone, making sure his chest Go Pro was still recording.

"I've always said 'If you can do something in style, it's always worth your while! Hiyah!" The Cobra grunted using his stance and strength to lob a large grenade over the targets.

"Looks like you misse-"

"Bang!" A sidearm being shot interrupted the Bearded one's snide remark.

"Ping! Boom!" The poor grenade which had been thrown all the way over Destan's targets, burst into thousands and thousands of deadly metal pieces ripping apart the targets much like a shrapnel round from a morter would, right over the group of metal targets shredding them to pieces.

"You were saying Beardy?"

"How?-" The spectators suddenly burst into a raucous cheer, the closest giving the man of the hour a jovial pat on the back.

"This is where I say something witty, but I feel it would just go right over your head." Destan chuckled slinging his arms around the two Seals, who still seemed to be trying to comprehend the what had just taken place.

'I'd be flabbergasted too if someone pulled that shit off'

"Alright! Alright! Break it up, which one of you did some'm stupid." An officer, one he had not seen before, came marching over pointing at the two Seals who had just broken out of their stupors.

"Officer on deck!" Someone in the back basically screamed, making all the men stop and drop what they were doing and salute.

"I wouldn't call it stupid, here have a look yourself Sir." The Kurd smoothly interrupted taking off his Go Pro hooked on his chest plate, which was connected to his phone.

Showing the clip of him absolutely destroying his targets, the Officer donned a grin stating "You cocky kids, I pulled that shit off back when I was green, so stop ya slacking off and get back to ya duties!" The Officer yelled much like a drill Sargent would, giving a pat on the Kurd's back, before marching off again.

The whole time the two Seals had butt their heads together whispering something between themselves.

"Destan." The Valkyrie called over, as the crowd cleared up.

"Yes نيرجز?((Nergz)Kurdish Flower)"

"We were talking and we thought we'd bring you along for a small job we've been asked to do." She continued, ignoring the nickname.

"You saw my performance and you think I would be a good distraction."

"Something along those lines." The Valkyrie smirked.

"There's a HVT close by here, a Middle Eastern Arms Dealer who we suspect had a hand in giving Syria chemical arms."

"And we have to go in there get the bastard out before Al Nusra or YPG do, no offense." A quiet 'none taken' was thrown back, before they continued briefing.

"Then we wait for extraction, and go straight to the strip to home base." They finally finished.

"So I'm guessing he has a security detail? PMC? Syrian special forces?" The Kurded rounded off the briefing with a good question.

"PMC, about thirteen of them."

"What's the catch?"

"They're all western special forces."

"Fuck..." The Kurd swore, he gave some time for the intel to burn into his brain before saying, "Alright I'm in let's go."

 **{Two}**

"Shit! you really weren't joking when you said special forces." A pinned Destan huffed and puffed as he took cover behind a slowly degrading stone wall.

Slowly degrading as in every Allah damn guard was shooting at his wall, in hopes of killing the one guy that had just taken cover.

"How'd you make it through that open ground without taking fire!?" Valkyrie yelled on the radio as the sound of gunfire from the radio and the compound mixing.

"I'm fast as fuck boi!" The Kurd screamed back.

"Alright cover us as we move up!" BlackBeard ordered this time.

"Roger!"

Preparing a little gift he had been hiding in his backpack, Destan pulled out a compact modified rocket launcher, a smaller RPG 8 to be exact.

The raining of bullets hadn't stopped but they had made a nice a little hole in his cover, in which he could shoot his surprise.

"Swoosh!" The little thing sang throwing a smaller than usual rocket propelled grenade, which suddenly split apart as it got closer to its target, spreading little small components over the balconies and walls his side of the compound.

In the next few moments Destan had to duck his head as a great plume of fire and smoke shrouded the west side of the compound in a thick layer of death. Rocks and small pieces of debris showered in a fifty metre radius. The compound which he had just basically ruined, _was_ a beautiful Middle Eastern Mansion, with a what used to be hanging gardens on the balconies and two stories of astounding architecture, all surrounded by astounding vegetation and greenery. Well " _was"_ of course, now it was all riddled with bullet holes and craters. And dead bodies strewn about the place.

"My side is clear!" The Kurd barked into his com, vaulting over the destroyed stone wall, putting away his RPG.

"Of course it is." An exasperated Valkyrie huffed into the radio frequency.

"I'm going to rotate around the east perimeter, and do a wide sweep, You two secure the HVT." Now to get to work cleaning up.

Braving the charred and burning grass of the once posh looking garden of the mansion like it was a minefield, Destan did a quick 360 before taking a knee.

His trigger finger ached to let rip, his heart was pumping, and his adrenaline levels were through the roof. Of course he loved the feeling.

"taşınmak! taşınmak!(Move in! Move in!)" That was until he heard his least favourite language.

"Fucking Turks!" He grunted through gritted teeth.

"Be advised we got a third party moving in east side, I got about thirty Turkish special forces operators on my position, you better call in that extraction, or there will be a lot of dead Turks on the nine o'clock news tonight." He whispered into his headset microphone.

'Might aswell start a new recording.' He thought as she stopped he current recording quickly starting again.

"Yayılmak!(Spread out!)" Another Turk helpfully announced his position.

Taking a hasty look over his cover, the Kurd confirmed his evaluation, and ducked back down again. The Turkish Tangos, definitely special, basically screaming out their positions within seconds on getting close to the compound.

'Man they really didn't learn anything from _Afrin_.' He mused.

'I wish I had some sort of non-lethal right now... do I really need to ristrict myself?... Yes , yes I do.'

"Not after Chechnya, never again." His voice took some sort of hysteric tone to it.

"Valkyrie you there, what's the status of the HVT and extraction over?"

"HVT secure, we're moving to the roof, we got command waving off the Turks as we speak. Extract in five minutes." She answered, unaware of his position.

"Well if they see me, you can throw the cease fire out the window, I'm public enemy number one in Turkey. Those men will ignore orders straight from Ardogan to shoot me down!"

"What the hell you do to piss them off that much!?" BlackBeard asked the questions on both the Seal's minds.

"Me being a Kurd is reason enough."

The statement rattled their minds, as they pinned it for later.

"This Helo-Echo-Niner-Kilo-Four ETA two minutes.#" The gruff voice of an American interrupted their thought process to bring good news.

And good news it was, the second those Turks saw the Blackhawk they'd scurry off faster than you could say "Coward!"

"I'm relocating to the roof." The Kurd whispered, taking an old Nokia Brick phone from one of the dead guards, putting it on an loud alarm, and throwing it far away into the compound's garage.

The phone landed with a faint thud, before giving off that old annoying ringing tone only 90s kids would remember.

"Birisi bunu kontrol et!(Someone go check that out!)"

A man ordered, which was followed the heavy footsteps of three to four men and women sneaking slowly across the space between them and the disturbance. Right past him.

"It would be so easy just to ice you.." He muttered leveling his rifle to aim at the Turks, before stopping half way and slinging it over his shoulder.

It wasn't worth it anyway, besides he only killed in self-defence and in the defence of others. One of the many laws he had put down for himself, because 'Allah wills it!' He faintly remembered someone he knew joking about it. Throwing a chunk of balcony he had devastated right into one of the many Black probably bulletproof SUVs in the vehicle bay. Setting off another annoying sound.

"Gitmek! Gitmek! Gitmek!(Go! Go! Go!)"

The thirty or so men scrambled running straight to the 'HVT trying to get away'."

The perfect window of opportunity for him to escape.

so he just walked ink the mansion like it was his own.

'Straight to the roof, no searching for rich guy relics!' Destan Chided himself as he made a beeline for the stairs to the roof, incidentally right past the Bad guy's office.

"SCRRRRRRRRRRRT!" His steel toed boots drifted across the emculatly designed marvel floor.

'Was that a Golden AK-47u Saddam era! No Destan No!'

His inner war didn't stop him walking right in, setting his carryall onto the table, and grabbing every item of at least 6 years of age or more.

'A Serbian BlackArrow! How the fuck do I fit that in my bag!"(they are Huge sniper rifles!)

"Is that a Makarov?" He asked no one, as he picked up the weapon, inspecting every inch.

The piece art, had become a canvas for Islamic Iconography, spread out across the grip and barrel like a snake winding its way up a tree branch. The calligraphy being actually eligible to him, spoke a beautiful story of a man who had walked off the path of Islam, only to come back.

'Weren't I doing something?'

'Oh Shit!' The sudden whirling of helicopter blades put him into action, making him hurriedly put the sidearm away into the bag, which he quickly after carried off.

Basically hiking up the stairs three at a time, Destan put his carryall on and took out his rifle. The roof _was_ as high quality and stylish design as the rest of the estate, a little hammock and small vegetable garden adorning one of the corners, and the body of a sniper and some sandbags adorning the other.

"Your Finally here! Quickly get in!" The Valkyrie barely heard over the boisterous roar of the Blackhawk's engines.

"Go! Go! Go!" The Bearded one yelled into the radio signaling the pilot to lift off.

The Jerked up slightly as it slowly ascended towards friendly airspace.

'Finally done with the side project' The tired Kurd sighed looking out the BlackHawk, a hand holding his trusty rifle, the other holding on for dear life.

The breeze was refreshing against his face as he looked around the landscape he fought over, though not much of it would survive by the time they're done.

A small glint distracted him from his daydreaming of a little rest, peace, and prosperity, and by the looks of it a glint of glass reflecting the sun's rays... Like a high powered scope... his eyes widen into saucers as he leapt into action. Quite literally. He drove both the Valkyrie and the HVT to the cold steel floor of the helo before the round could find its mark. The round ricocheting off the back of the side of their passenger bay and into Allah knows where.

"Fuck! Sniper! Get out of here!" BlackBeard yelled forcefully pushing the pilot's joystick to the side evading another close call, which had missed the co pilot by a few centimetres.

The sudden move slid, the three people still lying, dangerously close to the open doors of the helicopter as the sniper continued shooting.

Valkyrie finally scrambled up pulling out a pair of binocs out of a back pouch, sreaching for the shooter. Right into the awaiting sniper's crosshairs...

"Bang!" The crack of fire echoed over the sound of poeple shouting, blades turning, and a M61 Vulcan returning fire.

Some say that's the reason sniper rifles are so loud, a phycological warfare on the mind. But it didn't give Destan the intended effect it should've. Instead he felt worry, pressure, a certain tightness in his lungs, not for himself mind you... it was for the people he made bonds with, for him those willing to fight beside him, were more important to him than his own health...

The only thing he felt as he was hoisted up into a seat, as the doors finally closed, was a sharp biting pain below his right kidney.

'No pain, No gain right?'


	3. What You've All Been Waiting For Ch 3

**Alright this is the third chapter that probs will be uploaded in the summer! So buckle in and get your Arabic coffee or Kurdish tea, cuz we about to get real deep here... I mean I hope we do...**

* * *

 **{THREE}**

* * *

 **'Pain**... pain is all I feel in times like this, they're quite common too... there's a reason I do this I just got to remember...'

"كا كا!((Kaka!) Brother!)"

"هه لسه!((hlsa)get up!)"

"ئەوى باشه ديستان، تۆ پێويستى نابيت تا چيتر نيگەران ببيت بۆ من.(it's okay Destan, you don't need to worry for me anymore.)"

"Verdammt!" His fourth language easily slithering its way onto his tongue in times of stress.

"Not like this, brother... not like this." His heart ache worsened at the state of his brother's clothes, red blotches sprouting up all over his arms and torso. The cloth did nothing but hide the gorier truth...

"بۆچى من!((Bochi mn!)Why Me!)" He cried and cried, though nothing was changing his brother's fate.

 **"بۆچى من!"**

 **{THREE}**

" _Destan_!"

"I'm up! I swear I'm up!" He almost shouted, being pushed back into his stretcher as soon as he jolted upright.

"See! I told you Meghan's magic touch would wake him up!" A familiar gruff voice reached out to him.

His groggy state of mind too tired to catch up.

"Where am I? What happene-"

"Woah! slow down Destan! You're all right, we hightailed it out of there as fast as we could, we're at the Hasaka military airstrip." He now distinguished the low noise as 'the Bearded one', though only through the horrible pronunciation of the city name.

"Where am I hit." The Kurd resigned to his fate, voicing it with a sigh, while closing his still adjusting eyes.

"Just above your hip, you're quite a lucky man Mr. Cawa! Any lower _or_ higher and you would have been out of the game for good." A new man spoke to him, the accent much more familiar for his ears.

"متى الطبيب؟((mta Tabib?)How long Dr.?)"

"سيكون من الجيد الذهاب في وقت قريب ، تحتاج فقط إلى السماح لجسمك بالتعافي قليلاً ، لقد فقدت الكثير من الدماء(you will be good to go very soon, you just need to let your body recover a little, you lost a lot of blood)" He answered in his native tongue.

They easily changed the language at the flip of a imaginary switch.

"Good enough, I guess it wouldn't be a bad time for us to finally get properly acquainted?" The Kurd hopefully questioned.

"You've earned the right kid..." They stopped to look at the syrain doctor who had started to fiddle with his thumbs at the side.

"Oh right! I'll be going. I got many patients to attend too." The arab not so subtly darted out of the medical tent he had been working in.

"You understand that us special forces types are very cautious about our identities, it's to protect those we hold dear to us at home. Except you for some reason don't follow that rule..."

"Anyway as I said you earned it, I'm Craig Jenson, I'll let your guardian angle do her's." The rough man chuckled.

Destan looked to his left, finally noticing a welcoming warmth on his hand. The Blonde Seal sat there, stroking a tentative thumb over his aching palm. She hadn't spoken since it had happened.

"He did much more than earn it... Meghan J. Castellano reporting for duty." She finally spoke, in a voice much more tender and raw than he remembered.

"Nonsense I'd do it all again in a heartbeat! Though I am pretty used to being a meat shield by now, it's kind of what I do..." He stopped to look at to the side embarrassed "And what can I say I'm a sucker for military women." He did what he did best; while giving the Valkyrie's appendage a comforting squeeze.

"See chivalry still lives!" Craig laughed at the side.

"Besides I think you know a way to compensate me later!" Destan chuckled as the Valkyrie gave him a hard hook on the shoulder for the quip.

"Hey! Still recovering!" Destan yelled, which was soon drowned out by the chuckles of all three of them.

 **{THREE}**

The long ride back was uncomfortable, boring, and painful. Don't get him wrong the man was used to flying. With the family vacations, business trips for his family's company. The occasional holiday in war riddled counties. You know normal stuff, he was well adjusted to this. But now he had to cope with constant torment from the disinfectant the good doctor had poured all over his abdomen like he was putting out a fire with water!

And to add to his torture he had Meghan hanging off of him like some protective lioness! He didn't even have the heart to tell her it wasn't her fault, it was either this or suffer a beating worse than his mother's when he was younger! No wait, mother's beating will always be the worst...

A moment of hysteric nostalgia aside, Destan felt pretty... Alive? I mean this was basically a normal Wednesday for him, the getting shot part of course, but it was something he loved about the near death situations that made him want to do it more... He might as well be addicted to combat.

"You know you guys never told me where in England we're actually going to." He piped up, shuffling in his seat, which Meghan made sure was securely bolted down. You know incase he fucking _flies_ off.

It was like she thought he would die if he was left unattended... Hmm... pretty accurate.

"That's classified." Craig answered in the seat opposite them, looking up from his phone, which he was probably reading from.

"I'm guessing the whole 'bag over the head' thing till we get there?"

"Yep. Sorry buddy..." He answered back, looking up grinning, not sorry at all. That sly bastard...

"Look it's not that we don't trust, I think you throwing yourself in front of a bullet for me proved your loyalties enough, it's just Rainbow is a very big program, with lots of people, and they don't always get along, but they have one thing in common. Their loyalty... the director wanted you here because over your short career you'be made plenty of headlines, and when the UN pushed for diversity saying 'If you can get Japanese, South Koreans, and Spanish CTUs, then why not a Kurdish one... Six decided she would go for the best."

"We'll be wheels down in five!" A crewman called out further down the cargo bay, his airman's helmet and visor effectively masking his identity.

"You heard the crew, time to bag the Cobra, You get the HVT." Craig cut off the moment, his sudden intrusion forcing Meghan's hand off of Destan's.

"Hey! Wai-" Whatever He was about to say was muffled by the black bag enveloping his head.

He clearly saw Craig take off his Mag Pouch of his belt and stick over his head. Wait... why did the top of his head feel heavy and cold...

The pich it's self was stuffy, barely allowing him any breathing room, it's fabric rough and course chafing his skin. The feelings bringing up dreaded memories, and a rare deep unsettling feeling of claustrophobia. The glimpses of dark rooms stained by blood and excrement of their inhabitants, men in black clothing coming in everyday to mutilate, beat, and torture. But that was in the past, he couldn't let past echos of grief and heart-rending suffering get to him now.

'After all it wouldn't look good for his image if he started _hyperventilating_ now would it...'

Destan was still young, but by Allah the things he had done and seen things that would put some people twice his age to shame... or in this case they'd feel overwhelming pity for him, that's it, after all that _death_ , _torture_ , and _agonizing pain_ ; all he got was _pity_.

'Life's like that middle Wife in a haram,' He remembered his father telling him once, 'she's a bitch but by Allah she's got the body of an angle.' Then he would say after a short pause, 'What I mean is, life will throw you about your whole life from ring corner to ring corner, but in the end it's the it's good things that count, if you put up a fight that's enough for a man...' a weird but endearing saying, incredibly Middle Eastern aswell.

It was times of darkness, you mostly thought of your family and those around you, they were the beacons of your soul...

Men have done horrible things for the ones they love, and they'd do it all again in a drop of a hat.

A gentle hand gave him subtle reassurance, the powerful hands of his 'guardian angel', as he was stood up from his seat; and towards the back of the plane. Once off the ramp of the C-130, Destan felt the cold English channel air hit him like a salty truck, while the rare British sun tickled his neck and arms. Guess if it's not raining... might aswell buy a lottery ticket.

"For once in this fucking place it stops raining! It's a miracle."

"If only I could witness this rare phenomenon!" Destan spoke trying to be coherent through his muzzle.

"Even with a bag over your head you're still taking?" Meghan chuckled guiding the Cobra to a helicopter, which Destan only saw as a unidentifiable object in a world of nondescript shapes.

"Let's go we're missing lunch, the quicker we get there the faster I get my rack time (military jargon for sleep)." The Bearded one grumbled.

 **{Three}**

"Are we there yet?" He spoke his speech still still choked by the black bag.

The longer he was blinded the more he missed the freedom of sight. The longer he spent under here the more vivid the memories got. So he did what he did best... Talk.

"If you start that, I'll throw you out before we get there!" It seemed like Craig was speaking from experience perhaps a family man. He was probably the age.

"Birdcage actual, this is Harbinger-3 ETA five minutes to Hereford." The British pilot grumbled into his helmet microphone.

"We read you loud and clear Harbinger-3, red carpet already rolled out for you." Garbled static was the response.

"Roger that birdcage actual, over and out."

"Are we in a Puma?" Destan asked out of nowhere, the helicopter had been vibrating violently as it was descending.

"How..."

"I can see through this shitty mask, not entirely, but enough to know..." The Kurd still grinned even though no one could see it.

"Alright ladies you have reached your destination, have fun in that ruddy hanger you call a base!" The pilot who now sounded a whole lot more Scottish than his talk on the radio quipped at the two Seals.

Everyone in the helicopter momentarily bounced as the wheels touched ground, and the helicopter recoiled. Being ushered out of the now landed heli, Destan could see a group of buildings, and a whole lot of people about fifteen metres away.

"Are we there yet?"

"Yep!" The Bearded one chuckled partially pulling the awful pouch off his head, revealing quite ironically, a rainbow of colours, people, and gear. It also got him away from the potent smell of smokeless powder that emanated from the pouch.

Though his eyes were partially concealed (He could at least see better now), it hung like a hood now on his head, with only his trimmed goatee fully sticking out of the pouch.

"Well if it ain't my favourite Yanks, welcome back operators." A big gruff old man in the front of the pack greeted; accent overwhelmingly British.

"Top of the morning old man, I got you that souvenir you wanted..." Craig replied, stopping in place as Meghan threw the HVT onto the ground.

The not-so-poor Arms dealer grunting hard as he landed on his bound hands.

"Wait so what am I a trophy?" Destan asked, as Craig chuckled patting the Kurd on the back.

"And you must be the new guy," The old man brought out a gloved hand to shake.

Taking his hand, Destan took his time observing him, mirroring everyone else as they did it to him. An old weathered face, scars apparent on his neck and face. His slightly faded black hair, well kept, showed his discipline and loyalty, while an SAS emblem tattoo embroided on his neck, showed where they lied. He was just about the same height as him, but his build was nothing to laugh at. From where he was standing the Cobra could tell the man's body structure was that of a cruiser weight, but his muscles were packed with power only a verteran could accumulate. His grip was rough, applying a great deal of strength, most likely to test his pain tolerance. He'd have to try a lot harder than that...

All this through a pouch mind you... so he probably not getting some of his observations right.

It was also painstakingly obviously how some of his peers saw him right now, like some vicious animal that would sprout fangs and kill them all if they didn't keep watching him intently. It was all obvious, way they stared at him showed no mercy if he pulled something.

"I'm Thatcher, I'll introduce you to the others in the briefing room, we only came out here once we heard the team had injured." He continued, saying the last part to the two Seals.

"Yep, but we're all right it was Destan here who took the bullet..." Meghan answered not mincing her words, she didn't need too.

All this fell on deaf ears though the men and women behind Thatcher all looked tense, taunt fists, hands prying slowly for their sidearms, and the look of readiness for anything.

"You did!?" Thatcher's grip slackened a little, his face conflicted.

"Just above the hip." Distractly stated distractedly. He saw something he rather hadn't and now his whole body was aching to do something.

"What tabout you Valkyrie?" A redhead woman spoke up next the old man.

"Just a little bruising on the chest..."

' _Wait she didn't tell me!?_ ' He felt a little betrayed, but his eyes were still searching for a face he was sure he caught a glimpse of.

All his hairs were on end, his heart pumping blood faster than usual, and his adrenaline glands getting ready to dish out an unnecessary amount of hormones.

"Zostaw mnie w spokoju!(Leave me alone!)"

He definitely had heard that language before, but sadly did not speak this one, though he knew the occasional swear.

Some of the wiry unsmiling operators turned to look at the disturbance, which turned out to be two women, one wearing a beret, fast walking after the other who had short green hair enveloping her face like a jade hood, with a set of headphones and a military cap. She seemed familiar, Destan was sure he had seen her before... And if her abrupt stop, and wide eyes, were anything to go by, she did too.

'That Bitch!' Destan fumed.

'That Bastard' The green haired woman scowled.

'Click! Click! Click!' Multiple sidearms were wrangled out of their holsters, being mainly aimed at the Kurd, while the sounds of bullets entering their chambers echoed through the rain free outdoors.

The only people who hadn't pulled a pistol out like it was a mexican standoff were Thatcher who was still calm and casual, Meghan and Craig honestly not expecting Destan to do such a thing on this side of the hemisphere, and the still crouched HVT who of course did not have anything to draw nor did he know what to draw at. The shit stain would probably shoot himself to get out of this situation.

"Easy Lad, You might want to think about your next move..." The old man collectedly spoke, perhaps he had negotiation training.

"That Polish Cunt has shot me three times! I even have the video footage to prove it!" He countered much like child telling on another.

"And you haven't tried to shoot at her before?" The old man cooly interrupted, a smug grin appearing on his aged face.

"Of course I have, I drew cause she did first. Then these bloody arseholes joined in for the fun of it." Destan motioned with a nod of his head to the crowd of M45s, Sigs, USP, and a myriad of exotic secondary choices still aimed straight at him.

"Quiet Kurd, you're already not giving off a good first imppression." A German accented, pro-dominantly female voice cut him off.

"Easy on your trigger finger German, solange du es noch hast(while you still have it)"

The air suddenly got thick and heavy as if a fog had drifted in to make the scene a little more tense than it already was.

"Alright Gentleman holster 'em!" Thatcher barked forcing everyone to slowly but surely to disengage.

It surprised Destan greatly to see the operators all obey instantly, though some more reluctantly than others.

'Wait where did that guy hide a LMG!?' Destan thought, looking a big tall man in what looked to be Spetsnaz garments.

"Now let's get you to the briefing room and get you introduced, before you get anyone else injured." Thatcher

 _'I threw myself in front of a bullet!'_

Finally the big group shuffled albeit awkwardly back to the mess of buildings, and hangers in the background, the two polish woman from earlier, were right back to quietly bickering, while the blonde German woman from earlier glared, before looking away with her nose held high. Though he didn't miss the way her behind jiggled it's way side to side in her jeans.

'Why does it always have to be personal with woman? Half the men have already forgotten what just happened let alone forgiven me for it.'

Moving in the most organized herd he had ever seen Destan observed those he was walking with, all of them distinguishable from the other. More men in equipment like Thatcher's kept in good pace with him, all having some sort of gas mask hanging from somewhere on their harnesses. While just behind them moved a considerably large flock of French (He could tell they were French because they were speaking it, duh, and perhaps it was also the slight swagger only most French had), after them was what looked to be like a mix of German and US operators intermingling with eachother, and after them were whoever the hell was left.

Although, by the looks of it there were a few Russians, evident with one of them basically yelling 'Blyat!' When the another gave him a hard slap on the back, all the while laughing... Yep defenetly Russian.

Last but not least were him, the breaded one, his guardian angel, and a Turkish HVT What better rear guard than this?

Moving past some new looking office buildings, complete with that new carpet smell he imagined. The group walked past heavy duty doors, closed off by two armed guards at every entry. The offices were probably filled with people who wanted to fight terrorists but were just sent to tackle paperwork instead. Gravel crunched under about 50 or so boots as the herd moved into the main building, right past metal detectors and even more armed guards.

"Please wait here Sir," A cap wearing guard stepped out, after the metal detector duitifully chirped it's annoying tune.

"Alright what is it this time, 'Surprise check', feeling a little touchy feely, or is it because I look like a terrorist?" The Cobra joked as the group stopped moving to look at him.

It didn't help everyone except him and the "rear guard" had made it past.

The guard just ignored him, as he felt around his sleeves.

"Ah shit I forgot my watch and keys sorry..." The Kurd feigned surprise, taking off the items; not before saying,"Should I take off the belt too? What about my shoes?" A small round of snickers was what he was rewarded.

"Don't worry Officer, I swear I'm not carrying explosives right now."

It was pretty evident that the poor guard was regretting stopping the Kurd, as Destan got a few more chuckles and amused grins from the crowd watching.

"Let me just get this off of you." Craig said as he pulled he hood free from the Kurd's head also freeing his brown pompadour cut hair. Which also let go a stray Desert Eagle mag, falling ungracefully to the floor.

"Ahh that's where that went!" Craig exclaimed before his visage took on a look of confusion as he inspected the dropped mag, "Wait why's there one round missing!?"

The answer came in the form of a smiling Cobra, who was holding a round in between his teeth.

"Looking for this? Also please clean out the pouch before you use it next time, I can still smell the sweat of the last guy you used it on." He chided as he gave he stray bullet back to its owner.

Now there were now pressing matters at hand! Like getting past this top notch security!

"Ahh! I know what it is!" The Cobra suddenly exclaimed, drawing fourth slowly and teasingly his trusty Zulfiqar.

"Man is security tight here or what?" The Kurd quipped turning back to see both the Seals trying to hide their mirth.

Though the Kurd's grin vanished a second later as, Destan turned around and hounded on the guard.

"Now look here mate, the next time anyone who is wearing full military gear is stopped because of a metal detector, I will find you..." Destan threatened, pointing the two prongs at the guard's neck, "And I will-"

"Alright, enough lolly gagging around, we're already as late as it is." The old man intervened grabbing the Zulfiqar from the Cobra's grip.

"Get this back in its sheaf before you poke someone's eyes out." Thatcher seemed to be the only person besides the three behind him who hadn't stop to gape at it. (The HVT still had the bag over his head of course.)

"You compensating for something big guy?" A German voice joked, this time a male.

"I'm half Russian, of course I'm not compensating!"

"Da! a very true saying," A sudden Russian coated voiced close by. "Well met Tovarish." The big Russian guy who had slapped the other on the back earlier, came lumbering forwards ironically like a bear.

He seemed to have found his earlier jokes humorous, as the wide grin on his face would hint.

"Name's Alexander," He greeted this time Destan's hand actually getting crushed, probably not even on purpose. One peculiar thing he did notice was, the other operator's glares at Alexander for mentioning his name.

' _Wow they really do hold their identity in such high regard._ '

"у вас довольно сильный друг!((u vas dovol'no sil'nyy drug)you have quite a strong grip friend)!"

Destan smirked, collecting his belongings, as the group started moving again; only after closing their gaping mouths of course, this Man... was only 24; but he acted like any other civvie, but had probably seen three wars, too many civil wars and revolts to count. _Maybe he had_. You could never tell with the _Middle Eastern types_.

He was an above average build, most likely a natural heavyset, his papers said he was around 6,4" but looked at least 6,5". Unironically though he turned out to be the spitting image of what one would think a Persian/Arabian Prince would look like. Of course when you replace the shimmering armor with Kevlar. Even when idle he managed to look like royalty, a hand always poised on the shimmering gold of hilt of his impressive, to say the least, sword. ( I know what you're thinking.)

The Cobra was in all accounts very strange indeed, he had already shown himself to be a joker, much like their own Blitz. Furthmore his overall appearance wasn't something to ignore either, strapped in full Kevlar armor, guarding his chest, pelvis, and back; he looked ready to brave a war zone at any second. Under that he wore Marpat desert combat fatigues, which went well with the tan of his Kevlar. To finish up His bizarre and otherworldly look, was a simple red beret (which tucked away nearly in his shoulder strap right now), and a checkered red shemagh around his neck.

The rest of the journey was just the big group of men and women, moving in silence, though the Russian were now whispering to each other; like cult members would before "initiating" someone into their cult. He'd either lose a finger, or have to drink huge amounts of Highly expensive Vodka which he wasn't allowed to do... or any alcoholic beverage...

It seemed like the Men and Women of team Rainbow quickly made it to the briefing room without any more _security checks_.

' _Maybe they passed down the memo_ ' Destan idly thought.

The room in which he was soon going to be introducing himself in; was a grand room. Big enough to accommodate the whole team, while still being small and secure enough to be heard clearly in. Although the state in which it was was better than the average war room, he'd gone to some war rooms where the rocks signified tanks and pebbles foot soldiers, it disappointed him that there weren't futuristic holographic projectors being used as a way to manipulate their intel to their liking. Like some sort of sci-fi film.

As everyone got into place, the feeling of sudden nervousness washed over him, it was a common feeling most people got when they had to do something in front of a vast audience. Some of the operators still stood leaning against one of the walls, while the others sat CTU, from CTU. The Russians and Alexander he had seen earlier were sitting at the front, with Alex laughing about something, someone who was in a russian sailor's shirt, had said.

His observations were cut short when the two Seals came in later than the others most likely handing the prisoner to security.

"Alright Cobra you have the floor." Thatcher grinned like throwing new recruits to the _wolves_ was his favourite past time.

"Alright seeing as most of you seemed to have already read my file, I'll keep it short." He greeted walking behind a podium in the front, taking his phone out slyly. After a short pause to think about how he would address his unique audience.

"I'm Destan Cawa, codename Cobra. I'm a Kurdish Peshmerga, from the 13th Kurdish Cobra brigade. I only officially started serving and fighting for my country in 2012 when I turned eighteen, but before that I had left home with my eldest brother, fighting in Syria as freedom fighters, I was sixteen then. I first started out like any child soldier did, I was the water boy, or for the lack of a better term ammo boy, I carried all The ammunition for our group during skirmishes." Destan gave a thousand yard stare reminiscing about his earlier career as a child soldier.

The news definitely seemed to shock most of the people in the room, yes some of them might of started training and preparing themselves before they turned eighteen, but they had never seen a war zone until they were atleast a year into their service.

"I myself came from a wealthy family, since my father owns a weapons manufacturing company, called KC industries, it helped he used to be a gun runner back when he was younger. Most of the gear you see on me was made by the company, including my gadget... this is the KC-17 might look like a modified AK-12 but believe me this is so much better.

"A design by me and my sister, who is the head of our creative division, who invented one of the first high calibre automatic rifles in history that counter acts recoil on its own. Mine. You all know how the basic principle of AK is to use the round's gas and force to push the chamber back and feed another round in. Well I made it so the air being pushed back into the gun also shoots out upwards, near the muzzle pushing the rifle down when I spray. Besides that I also have others things that I use but they have yet to arrive. Let's just hope security doesn't take my gear hostage for having metal in them." Destan grinned seeing a few of the wiry unsmiling operators now either smiling or inwardly chuckling. Unless you count Alex's slap on his own knee, and a mighty Russian guffaw at the quip.

"Now you might ask, what I specialised in?, well being a man of many talents, I speak about six languages. Kurdish, English, German, Russian, a more Parisian French, and out of necessity my least favourite language Turkish. Among those I also know Persian, Pashto, Dari, and Uzbeki. Which are the main _dialects_ used in Afghanistan.

And if I quote the saying of 'If you know the swear words of a language you already know half the language.' Then I know a little Polish, Chinese, Japanese, and Spanish. Which makes me one of the most qualified interpreters in the world." This was a surprise alright, that in itself was a grand understatement. There were operators who knew more than two languages because their line of work or hobbies, like Craig apparently, even though his pronunciation is terrible, this Man knew six languages! No person was safe! No one could talk about him in any earthly speech or he'd understand! Little exaggerated of course he may only be completely fluent in four of them.

"I also specialize in information gathering, reconnaissance, and Phycological warfare! But enough, instead of talking for hours about what I can do, how about I just show you." The instance he uttered the phrase the screen behind him lit up, showing the video gallery of sorts.

"This is a little montage of clips that I have recorded during battle."

He switched to a video which started out blank and black till it presented the viewers with the sights and sounds of ruined Syrian village. Probably ruined village #136. The crunch of rocks and debris under steel toed boots being loudest thing you could hear until the distant crackle of gunfire echoed far away.

"برا با ئێمە وەرە بڕۆين بۆ قەزاى بازاڕ پێش داعش دەستي بە گوللە باران كردني ئێمە دەكات!(Come brother let's get into the Bazaar district before ISIS start shelling us again.)" A gruff old voice spoke to the wearer of the Go Pro. The subtitles helped very much here.

"وا بزانم ئێمە دەبێت زياتر نيگەران ببين دەربارەى توركيا گوللە باران كردن ئێمه(I think we should worry more about Turkey shelling us!)" The younger voice of Destan jabbed moving in pace with a handsome man in almost the same clothing as the present Destan, also donning the same Checkered red shemagh he was wearing right now...

The two moved a little more down the ruined road, surrounded by ruined houses, a ruined neighbourhood, and a ruined city. The video suddenly fast forwarded as the silence was soon replaced by the intense racket of death and war. The area they had been in, changed to very dark corridors and alleyways, also known to most as a Baazar. The Go Pro being fastened to Destan's head at the time, was getting every piece the of action, that Destan was.

"نقل! نقل! نقل!((Nql! Nql! Nql!)Move! Move! Move!)"

Upon hearing the Arabs shout their charge, Destan peeked and let his gun rip. The Modified AK-74 by the looks of it, singing its satisfying song. The video showed about fived armed men running towards them, though one quick burst of his rifle dropped them like bags of bricks.

"قنبلة!((Qumbala!)Grenade!)" another voiced shouted probably readying his comrades to push after its explosion.

'They've definitely had some sort of military training.'

The younger Cobra hurriedly leaned out of his cover searching for the bombs. With his AK hanging from its sling. The Kurd looked ready to catch something. Just after he peeked two round Objects flew towards him, one high, one low.

"Fuck!" His nerves showing through his more higher pitched voice.

Catching the high one with surprising agility, Destan quickly threw it back, straining his wrist in a mix of surprise and fear.

The second however was more tricky as it skid to a stop just a meter away, and while most of the operators watching would of thought he would have ducked for cover. The Kurd just walked up, and gave the grenade a mighty kick... the thing flew far right down the alley they were fighting in, and exploding shortly after. Funnily enough the groans and moans of the men who had thrown them was all that was left of the sound around him.

The short clip finished shortly after with his logo on the screen and then it going blank.

With sound of the video gone, he now only had the silent gasps and shocked faces of his would-be colleagues to accompanied him.

"What the bloody hell was that!" Someone whispered in the SAS group while the other CTUs just whispered in their own languages.

The whole while the Kurd was fiddling with his phone, he stopped suddenly when the screen once again turned on, with another video. Wait... was that the shooting range in Fort Foreign?

"I've always said 'If you can do something in style, it's always worth your while! Hiyah!" The Cobra grunted using his stance and strength to lob a large grenade over the targets.

"Looks like you misse-"

"Bang!" A sidearm being shot interrupted Craig's snide remark.

"Ping! Boom!" The poor grenade which had been thrown all the way over Destan's targets, burst into thousands and thousands of deadly metal pieces ripping apart the targets much like a shrapnel round from a morter would; right over the group of metal targets shredding them to pieces.

"You were saying Beardy?" The line would've probably made some of the audience laugh but it seemed they were still shocked.

It also seemed that he had edited the vids so their faces were blurred out.

"Not the flashiest thing I have seen men do, but good anough for a recruit." Thatcher chuckled , giving the Kurd a pat on the back.

"Da! You're doing a good job in representing

Russia _Tavarish_." Alexander supported, along with the another Russian behind him.

"The question is do you even know how to use that." The Russian with the sailor's shirt asked this time.

"This?" Destan asked gesturing to the scimitar.

"Da." He confirmed.

"Oh we've seen him fight with it, against a desperate squad of ISIS soldiers, charging with machetes and swords. You wouldn't believe it if we told you." Craig answered for him.

"Good thing I have that recorded aswell."

The screen changed this time to a smoke coated desert while a line of black figures ran full tilt with swords above their heads.

The first person view definitely helped put them in his shoes, as he took on about 7 soldiers mostly with his Zulfiqar, expect halfway through with two his pistol.

"Need I show more?"

"I think that's quite enough show boating for one day, after all you'll have more chances to show these fine soldiers all you can do tommorow in initiation." Thatcher took charge of the conversation again.

"Now any questions?" The Brit asked to the now less harsh looking audience.

A few hands rose, but one near the front seemed to be bursting to ask. Giving the over-energetic girl a another once over, Destan finally noticed one thing about the woman here, that they were astoundingly beautiful.

'Is being extremely _attractive_ , an obligation in this team?'

"Alright I pick you." Destan said pointing to the girl in cute round glasses still looking like she was going to explode.

"Can I have your phone!" It sounded more like demand than a question...

"Umm sure... but good luck getting past the firewall."

He slowly forked over his phone... his Nokia Brick to be exact, she did say give her his phone...

"There, be careful it's pretty tough."

The girl just looked at like it was some sort of alien technology.

"Your real phone..." she asked nearly crushing the old phone in her small dainty looking hands.

"Alright Alright! Jeez if looks could kill." The Kurd murmured at the behest of the others who just looked on in mirth.

"Now who else?"

There were still a couple of hands, waiting to be picked, while Alexander now seemed looking at his carryall he had brought in with him. Right next to the door.

"Alright you." He chose again, this time his hand landing on the redhead from earlier.

"Yeah, you said you were 'specialized' in Phycological warfare, but is that all you going to bring to the field? I don't see how scaring a terrorist is going to stop one of us from dying." She not so subtly questioned his reason for being here.

"I was brought here because I was told that a bunch of Counter Terrorist Operatives needed to be taught how to fight terrorists! I don't know if this a joke or not. But what I do know is all this juicy knowledge up here will help me get out of any situation faster than you ever could with your professional training." Destan motioned to his head, not so subtly goading her into a trap.

"What are we gonna do big guy? take cover behind your big ego when the bad guys start shooting? or is your mouth the only thing that functions properly on your body?" The bite of cold steel was much more welcoming than harsh words like these.

The room almost immediately thickened with conflict, Meghan who was still next to Craig was glaring daggers into the woman's head, while Alexander seemed as equally unsatisfied with the American's manners. The FBI team however seemed to have come to the same conclusions about him already, he also caught a quick glimpse of the Polish girl taking look at him, before looking away even faster.

"I wouldn't expect ex-IDF to understand the more complicated areas of combat, after all shooting civies is all they teach you right?"

Several of the onlookers became confused as to how he had deduced she was of israeli decent, while the Jew herself was fuming. While others eyes wide with surprise.

"I don't know which is more worse, the fact you're so eager to attack the only other person from the Middle East, or how extremely low your IQ must be not to know anything beside, shooting bad guys." Destan let his clenched fists fall to his sides, as crossing his arms only let her know how angry she was getting him, furthermore the grin he previously wore had now dissolved into a hard scowl.

"You little bastard! I'm going to-"

"Alright Ash, stand down," Thatcher stepped in before they had to wash their clothing of Middle Eastern blood, both Israeli and Kurdish...

Destan smirked once again as the redhead had been quickly put in her place.

"After all you'll get to test him yourself tomorrow..."

 _'Fuck you old man...'_

* * *

 **{Three}**

* * *

 **Alright this the great OC gets to meet the main characters scene that every fic has in it! It is always the most important scene, since first impressions should always be good. I think Destan had a good impression... I guess he might have to bribe a few people to get on their good side?**


End file.
